For Grateful Dead’s Final Shows, Long, Strange Trip Ends in Sea of Mail
Band’s Fans Go Retro to Snag Tickets; Psychedelic Envelopes
STINSON BEACH, Calif.—Time has always been elastic for Grateful Dead fans in thrall to tunes that last more than 45 minutes and shows that go on for hours.
So when the group announced it would mark its 50th anniversary in the summer of 2015 with three final performances, Deadheads took the old-school route, flooding the band’s ticket service here with handcrafted requests rather than clicking online.
Since the shows were announced a month ago more than 60,000 envelopes—many painstakingly adorned with the Dead’s typical psychedelic skulls and skeletons—have poured into a post office box in this picturesque Marin County spot a half-hour from the Golden Gate Bridge. The post office usually receives 7,000 letters a week. “It was a big shock to us,” Jim Harvey, the Stinson Beach postmaster, said of the vivid No. 10 envelopes festooned with Magic Marker sketches and fanciful lettering. “It indicated that the Grateful Dead culture is alive and well.”
The response to the three shows at Soldier Field in Chicago over the July Fourth weekend also blindsided the Dead’s ticket Svengali, Frankie Accardi-Peri. For more than 30 years, Ms. Accardi-Peri has fulfilled the band’s mail-order ticket requests. In January, when envelopes started pouring in, she stored the mail trays in her 24-year-old son’s bedroom. (“I had to use quite a bit of acrobatics in order to get to my bed,” Jesse Peri said.) With more than 100 overflowing trays piling up, Ms. Accardi-Peri realized she needed a hand—many hands. After a few phone calls, help was on the way. She moved the operations to a bigger house and expanded her staff to 60 people, from six.
Most music fans—even the Grateful Dead’s colorful and idiosyncratic enthusiasts—turn to the Internet or Ticketmaster rather than fuss with money orders and self-addressed stamped envelopes. “People don’t do mail order anymore,” Ms. Accardi-Peri said. But “all of a sudden, I can sell out the stadium five times over.”
Already, Ms. Accardi-Peri and her helpers have fielded requests for more than 400,000 tickets. For each of the shows, where the Dead will be joined by Phish’s Trey Anastasio, Bruce Hornsby and Jeff Chimenti, Soldier Field can hold about 61,500 people. The Chicago stadium hosted the last Grateful Dead show, in July 1995. A month later, 53-year-old Jerry Garcia, the singer and guitarist, died.
Mr. Garcia started the Grateful Dead in 1965 with Bob Weir, Phil Lesh, Ron “Pigpen” McKernan and Bill Kreutzmann. The group gave rise to psychedelic rock and over three decades amassed a following with hits such as “Truckin’ ” and “Casey Jones.”
The Dead celebrated the counterculture and cultivated a laid-back rapport with audiences that lapped up their often-meandering performances. The band encouraged fans to record shows (those who did were called “tapers”) and inspired many to devote their lives to attending shows. In 1983, with concerts selling out in minutes, leaving many disappointed, the Dead set up a homespun mail-order-ticket system.
Ms. Accardi-Peri came aboard a year later. She said the band signed over the operation to her and three other people after Mr. Garcia’s death. Since then, the company has handled mail-order requests for Dead-affiliated bands like Mr. Weir’s Ratdog, Phil Lesh and Friends, and Further. These days, Ms. Accardi-Peri is the only one of the original four running the operation.
Today, with envelopes still unopened, concert organizers postponed an online ticket sale planned for the second week of February, and pushed back the start of sales on Ticketmaster to Feb. 28.
The frenzy hasn’t infected the sun-filled Stinson Beach bungalow where Ms. Accardi-Peri keeps the mail moving. On a recent morning, sorters worked to the sound of the nearby ocean, while CDs of the Dead’s 1990 Spring Tour box set played on a stereo in the kitchen. Although the makeshift headquarters are chock-a-block with mail trays, the sorters themselves are relaxed and cheerful, eager to swap stories about the Dead.
No shoes are allowed inside, so sneakers and boots litter the front steps. Indoors, dozens of helpers, including many who worked on tickets for the Dead’s tours in the 1980s and early ’90s, pad around, combing through envelopes on tables covered in tie-dyed cloths. Trays of envelopes spill into every room, covering the kitchen island and a piano. Recently, one worker spotted a ticket request from Eric Vandercar, a 53-year-old bond expert who died this month in a New York train accident. The sorters set up a tiny memorial beside his envelope: a candle, his photo and a vase of greenery.
Ms. Accardi-Peri, draped in a shawl and often waving a wooden stick she calls her magic wand, puts on pink-framed glasses to look at envelopes. She discussed generally how requests are sorted but declined to give specifics about which are fulfilled or rejected and why. Scalpers are a perennial concern, and she worries that spelling out the selection process might help them. Asked who makes the final call on who gets tickets, she answered, “It’s magic!” She showed off some of her favorite decorated envelopes that weren’t rewarded with tickets.
For some Deadheads, requesting tickets by mail was a trip down memory lane. For others, like Josh Brady, it was a new experience. “I went this route because I knew there would be high demand for these tickets and this is one more shot at getting me in the door,” said Mr. Brady, a 33-year-old contractor in Eugene, Ore. “Also, it’s fun to do the old-school mail order.”
On their website, the Dead’s mail-order operation sets out amiable but specific instructions (“Decorated envelopes are always welcome”) for fans to submit their money orders and preferences for particular shows. The site repeats the instructions in a video (“Hey there, Deadheads!”) starring Jesse Peri as a frustrated ticket-seeker trying to play a videocassette from his computer and phone. He finally unearths a VCR—in a box labeled “Jurassic Period”—from the basement, and plays the tape with the instructions.
For those who don’t get tickets, the producer of the Chicago shows is looking into how fans around the world can experience the Grateful Dead without being there. “We’re hoping to do cool things for people who can’t get a ticket [and] enable people to experience it in their own way,” said music impresario Peter Shapiro, who is producing the concerts.
Now it is up to Mr. Harvey, the Stinson Beach postmaster, to make sure the envelopes—some with tickets, some not—make it back to fans. “Today they brought in about six trays with 500 letters each,” he said. “It’s just wonderful to see the postal service being valued with so many people for an important part of their life.”
Corrections & Amplifications
An earlier version of this article incorrectly said that Soldier Field can hold 71,500 people.